


ways to cope

by vntagecassette



Series: The College AU™ [1]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, College AU, Depressed!Jeremy, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Jeremy's a mess; Michael does his best, M/M, Post-Canon, Self-Harm, like explicit self-harm, please be careful folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 17:12:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11810502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vntagecassette/pseuds/vntagecassette
Summary: “How long?” Michael asks, voice painfully soft.“Um… I… it was just an acci—”“Jeremiah. Please don't lie to me. How long?"the one in which jeremy heere is so, so bad at keeping secrets.





	ways to cope

**Author's Note:**

> **CONTENT WARNING:** The following story is a _graphic_ depiction of a long withstanding depressive episode. It includes mentions of self-harm including events with the act itself, suicide, and a lot of our kind of teen narrator beating himself over the head with a stick. Please stay safe! 
> 
> This takes place in a post-canon universe set during college. It's rife with headcanons, but I attempted to stay as close to canon as possible in terms of previous events, though I took a few of my own liberties.
> 
> Self-edited. All mistakes in this are mine. Feel free to point them out as you see fit!
> 
> ((im so sorry the first thing i'm posting is angst kfkjkldjd i suck and promise i have nicer, fluffier things in the works))

Sometimes, Jeremy slices his wrists.

Not a lot. Usually he’s too much of a coward to actually bring metal to skin, but sometimes—when he’s sitting alone in his dorm, for example, left only with his thoughts—it gets so dark inside that he just…looks for a razor to relieve the pain.

It’s usually fine. He wears a sweater, and that covers the scars. And Michael never asks why Jeremy never takes anything off in front of him, because Jeremy has always been shy about changing.

He’s a hypocrite. When Michael was self-harming in high school, Jeremy begged for him to get help because it’s a slippery slope, one that it killed him to know Michael was even on. He’d been so distraught over the fact that he hadn’t known, that he hadn’t seen the signs and done something to try and prevent it. That Michael hadn’t told him.

Now here he is, keeping the same secret. Although frankly, he at least has an excuse. It’s… Michael’s been recovering for two years now, and he’s in a good place; and while he’s said he doesn’t really have triggers, Michael doesn’t seek out self-harm stuff either, and Jeremy would rather not chance it. Besides, Michael’s not his therapist. He’s his boyfriend, finally, and he doesn’t need to be bogged down by Jeremy’s shit.

Luck would have it, though, that Jeremy is a dumbass and doesn’t actually know how to keep something under wraps.

* * *

It happens when they’re making out in their dorm room. They both scheduled their classes in the morning, so their afternoons could be spent studying. And by studying, they meant either hanging out or fucking. Usually both, much to Jeremy’s delight.

He isn’t really paying attention to anything but Michael, who has him pinned to the wall, arms bracketing his head, a thigh between his legs. Jeremy loves being overwhelmed by Michael in every way, but especially physically; it makes him forget for just a second how loud the voices in his head can get. So he doesn’t really recognize that Michael’s pulling off his oversized sweater before it’s too late.

And maybe Jeremy would have gotten away with it, except because he realized what happened and all the consequences that could come with being found out, he freezes mid-kiss, which prompts Michael to pull back. “Babe, is everything—”

The words die, and Jeremy wishes he could go with them. Michael’s eyes just flicked over to the wrist Jeremy didn’t have enough time to hide, and there’s no fooling him. They both know what self-harm looks like, fresh and old, and Jeremy’s arm contains a smattering of the two.

If he weren’t so much of a screw up, Jeremy would shrug it off. He’d speak before Michael had a chance to, make himself oblivious to the fact that Michael noticed, and maybe Michael would leave it alone. Or more likely, Jeremy would take advantage of Michael’s disorientation and leave—which is shitty as fuck, but that’s Jeremy for you. Instead, he tries to hide his wrist behind his back, staring at the ground and hoping it’ll swallow him.

“Sorry, I…” He flounders, looking for an excuse. “I—”

“How long?” Michael asks, voice painfully soft.

“Um… I… it was just an acci—”

“Jeremiah.”

Jeremy stiffens at his full name. There’s a sharpness to Michael’s voice, but his hand is so gentle when it touches Jeremy’s cheek. “Please don’t lie to me.” He says. “How long?”

Michael coaxes Jeremy to finally look up from the floor, and if he had any intention of trying to fool Michael, it’s forgotten when their eyes meet.

“I…” Jeremy shifts, heart pounding. “A y-year.”

“Fuck.” Michael takes a step back, then another, one hand bracing his weight on the desk next to them while the other goes over his mouth, the knuckles on both turning paler at the sheer force of his grip. Jeremy sees Michael’s shoulders shaking, his head down, and feels guilt flood him. He’s so fucking stupid. Why hadn’t he been smarter, kept his arms covered, or—or something—

“I-I’m so sorry.” The words stumble out of him before he has a chance to think about them. “Please—please just forget you saw anything, it’s so stupid and I—I can’t—”

 _—breathe_. Fuck.

He claws at his chest for a moment, forgetting he’s bare and scratching his skin. As fucked up as it is, the pain grounds him, despite that _this_ is what got him here in the first place.

He has to go. He _has_ to. He scrambles for his sweater on the floor, and holy shit, has the room been spinning this whole time? He stumbles, wheezing, still barely able to keep a breath in, but he has his sweater and that’s all he really needs, so he goes to make a break for the door, and—

Before he even makes it two steps, he’s caught by something—someone. Michael.

“Wait.” He says, and his voice is still painfully soft in that way that Jeremy _knows_ is hurt, and it makes him want to fucking _die_ —or at the very least, rip his wrist out of Michael’s grasp and run until his body breaks.

“Please, Michael, I can’t—I can’t t-talk—I need—”

“Shhh.”

Michael takes Jeremy by the shoulders, his soft brown eyes watery and concerned. “You don’t need to talk. Just… please sit down, okay? If you need to be alone for a minute, I totally understand, but I—” Michael looks down, swallowing. “I’m really scared you’re gonna get hurt if you go out like this, Jer.”

Jeremy can only tremble. _I’ll be fine_ , he wants to say, _don’t worry about me. I don’t deserve it._ Opening his mouth, though, he finds his words have been replaced by ragged wheezes. Tears well up in his eyes. God, why can’t he just— He takes a fistful of his hair and tugs. Michael catches his wrist again, before Jeremy has a chance to do anymore damage.

“Breathe, Jer.” He says, thumb rubbing circles into his pulse point, ignoring the tell-tale divots Jeremy knows he must feel. “With me, okay?”

Michael motions in, holding his breath for a couple seconds, then breathing out. Jeremy doesn’t know why it’s so much easier to breathe with someone else around—is he that pathetic that he can’t even perform basic bodily functions without help?—but he follows Michael regardless, lightheadedness receding a bit.

“It’s okay.” Michael soothes. “It’s okay, it’s all gonna be okay. Do you want to sit?”

Jeremy swallows, nodding. Michael leads him to his bed, pushing off some of his books so they tumble to the floor. He hands Jeremy his favorite blanket and all he can do is stare at where it used to lay at the foot of the bed.

“Jer.”

Jeremy snaps to attention, spine straightening on instinct.

“Just…just relax.” Michael says, after a minute. “Would it help if I left for a bit?”

Jeremy looks down, vision blurring from god knows what this time. It would and it wouldn’t, is the thing. He knows more than anyone that like this, he’s nothing but an asshole who shouldn’t be around people. But—he—

“Bad question.” Michael shakes his head. “Alright, how about this: I’m gonna get you some water. Is that okay?”

Jeremy swallows, and suddenly he can feel how raw it is. He nods.

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

Michael turns on his heel, only to turn back in the next instant. He opens his mouth to say something, closes, rinses, and repeats several times. Then he steps forward just the slightest bit, movements so careful and parsed—so different from the unabashed Michael Jeremy’s used to. He puts one hand on Jeremy’s shoulder, the other cupping Jeremy’s cheek with such tenderness it makes Jeremy’s heart ache, and leans. He presses his lips into the top of Jeremy’s head, right on his hairline, lingering for a moment. He whispers something in what Jeremy can only assume is tagalog; it’s like a kiss in itself, even if Jeremy can’t understand it.

And then he’s gone.

Jeremy’s brain turns to white noise, silence ringing in his ears. It’s nice, at least. The panic hasn’t completely subsided, but his thoughts haven’t come back in. Neither has… _it_.

He doesn’t really know when it started coming back; maybe it never left at all. It used to only be whispers, little bits that lapped at the shores of his mind every so often before receding again. But then he’d started college, and high tide came crashing down, and he’d found himself drowning.

Cutting… he hadn’t even meant to start. It was a passing thought, one he’d written off as a joke. But then that damn chemistry exam had fucking—

Look, Jeremy hated chemistry. He was never _really_ any good at anything, but he was _horrible_ at chemistry. Always had been. And then… then the SQUIP came along. Since that was his junior year science, he never had to bother to learn anything. He just knew it: could recite anything for a test, answer anything in class, tutor anyone despite that it wasn’t _him_. And so of course, when everything blew up in his face, that did, too. Suddenly, an entire half year’s worth of information was ripped out from under him, and he fell _hard._

He didn’t end up failing the class since he had such a good grade before, but he got too close for comfort.

He hadn’t even wanted to take it in college. Jeremy didn’t know _why_ he needed to—for fuck’s sake, he was an English major—but it was a requirement, so. No getting out of it, even if every class left him cold sweating at best. Which was the problem: he was too tense to do anything except stare at the clock, willing it to go faster, and that feeling isn’t exactly conducive to note-taking.

He’d flunked the first exam so hard, the twenty-point curve hadn’t saved him.

It was…devastating, to put it lightly. And maybe the SQUIP could sense that—it always knew when Jeremy was at his lowest, always used that to its advantage. Maybe it could tell it was “needed” again, and that’s why. Or maybe Jeremy asked for it somehow. He had been thinking about it again, while he broke down in the washroom attached to his and Michael’s suite: reminiscing what it felt like not to be such an idiot, to actually thrive and feel accomplished, and just… not be him again.

Whatever it was, the SQUIP came back without hesitation.

_H̸̜̖̅̾͑̽ͫͤͮ͢e̫͎̝̠̝̤̥͑̌͞ḻ̶̶ͤ̔̆̔͑̏͟l̛̘̱̜̯̙͛͆̿̐o͎̩̥̭̅̉,̷͍̙̼̼̗̞͇̇ͬ̑ͧ̅̑ ̨̛͉̜̝̬̠̰ͥ̈J̯̞̣̠̹̪̔̑̑͌ͥe̮̯͖͇̝̲ͦ́ͮ̌̽ͫ̔͂͠ͅrͯ͒̈́̂͑ͬ̿̚҉̨̣̭̩̙ę̴̼͗̈́m̫̭̠̓̓̃͆̚ȳ̈́͏̠̜̘̯͠.͐́̔͌͠͏̜̣̱_

_No._

I̟͔̖̗͕̭̬̖̮ͤͬͮ̑̍͝'̛̠̤̰ͫ͒̒̌̓̑ͧ̌m̵̝͓̲̜͉̀̂͋̅̏̿ͯ̚͞ ̷̹͙̦̬͇̘̝ͧ̾ͭͅȳ͍͚̯̥͎͕̪̔ͦ͊̓ͨ̇͒͡ȯ̘̝̻̙͆̀͐̇͢ṳ̴̫̱̫̃̏̿ͥr̷̦̟͚͆͐͋͛ ̳̝̦̯̜̟̠ͧ̾̃̉͝͠S̡̟̙̱͒̇ͫ̏̋͒ͤ̍́͞u̖̩̠̘͔͒͌ͭ̉̊͟p̴̙̰̥̟͓̻͕͋̓͑͌̂̄͡ẽ̛̏̃̒ͧ̀ͫ͌̒͡͏͎̪̼̖̼r̠̼͎̘͙̃̅͒͆ͤͤ ̦̠̰̣͉͚̓̓̄Q̴̷̮̲̳̹̪͖̮̳͊ͯͤͫ̎ų̶̑ͣ̾ͧ͋̌̏̃̚҉͚̱̣̯a̺͚̣̞̗̟͆͘n̮̝̟̦̱͕̱ͥͭt̘̫̖͓͚̯́͗̇̾͢uͥͮ͐́҉͏͉̫̤̬̫̝̯͙̻m̗̟̜̼̫̟̃̿̉ͬ̿̈́͠͡ ̶̼̞̍ͩͭ͑̓̎͠Ụ̹̟ͮͧ́͋ͦͦ̓̽̚n͈̯̈́ͦ̆͊̒ͫ͟͝ḯ̤̯̇̍̌ͩ̊̕t̰̟̜͙̼̞̽ͮͪͫͦͬͮ̐ͅ ͙̫͈͎̻̩̩͋ͯͯͤͭͮ̕Ì̷͈̬̰͎̓̌͂̐͛̚n̡̺̟͙̭̪̙̲̿̽̐t̟̦̘͍̓ͨ̿̓̎͘e̸̮͙͎ͮ͂̌͡l̨̫̯̼̞͓̈ͩͨ̊̚͟ͅ ͗̓̀̾͗̓ͦ̇ͣ͏͉̰̱̻̣͔̝͚͞P̷̞͙̫̭͎̺͖̔̃̈̋ͅŗ͎̼̏̿͐̓͌ͨ̋ͣ͑o̘̘̘͕͇̮ͤͬ͊̽̄͜c̨̠͍̻ͭ̀̚ĕ̈̏͌̉̋̀͏̢̡͈s̞ͤ̈͐ͩ̓͊̚̕s͙̱̮̹̭̭͋͘͟o̵̪̘̞̪͇̘̙͂͛͆̈́̽̐ř̷̻͕̙̞̪̜͚̈̿́ͮ̎͒̚.̰͙̬̼̅ͣͪ͑

_Oh god, please no—_

_Y̧̲̻͎̠̬ͦ͋̋̀͋̍͛́̚͘o̵̧̽̂̃͏̥͙͈̞͖̩̜̘u͖̫̮̹̱̗̦͊ͨͥ̒ͫ̓͜ȑ̹̫͎͎̣͕͚͖̣̕͠ ̡̎̈́͌҉̜͚̳̫̯̞͚͟S̸͍̞̭̃͑͛̔̏̄̔Q͎̪̝͓̆͆ͬ̏̄̓ͩͨ̚͠U̙̼͔̲̣͑̂Į̭̝̳̠͚̏̓̍̀̃̋͆̑͊P̶͈̼͔̱̟͇̩͖ͤ͂̇͠.̮̙̆ͨ͂̉̓̌̔̓_

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_

_Î̜̹̠͎̃͡t͇̞̻̩̻̏̄ͤ'̢̧͉̝͓̻̟͓͕̹͓ͩͥ̎̑ͭͥ͛̀͢s̸͂̉ͫ̎͏̜͉̮͕ ̦̣͔̙̺̻ͫͯ̏́͒͗ͣ͠ͅͅn̜͎̱̑̔͝i͎̰̲͕̦̭͖̳ͪͤ̄̔̓͜c̭̣̺͓̟̆ͬͤ̇̏ͬͤ̒͠e̫̥̬̦̦ͤͯͫ̓̄̃ͨͮ̚ͅͅ ̮̮͇ͫ̑́t̷̢̛̙̮̱̰̤̘̲̯̀̒̍͛ͬͯo̸̫͈̳͂̊͐̈͘ ̠̻͗͒͋͡s̤̳͚͚̞̯̖̜̉ͦ͌ͬ̚͢ͅe̜ͯ͌̌̊̎͛͢ė̦̗̫̿͌ͮ̓͘ ̷̛̝̰͒̀̏̽͗̌ŷ̵̞͎̯̄ͨ͋ͤͥ͒o̷̝̻̮̫̤ͭu͊̒ͪ҉̦̹̜ ̷̵̡̼̮͍̎̍̑ą̷̘̳͚͇͔͗̉ͮ̀ͦ̓ͪ͒ḡͧ͆͆ͩ͗̑̿͏̜̯̻͚̫̩͚̫a͙̲͕̞̭ͩ̓ͤ̕i̷̧̤̖̘̪͐ͭ͂̋ͧ͐͐͜n͍̞̣͕͓̜͍̹ͥ̇̄͌ͩ͆͡,̩̖͚̝̼͍͉͚̂͛̊͛̽́̚̚ ̖̦̮̹͖̟͇̉̓̎̎̋̄͞ͅĴ̵̸̨̭̻̱̰̝̖ͮ̍̾̆͒͑ḛ̵̴̬̮͉͍̺̱̪̗͐̆͗̾̉͆͐̎̕r͗̆̎͐̐̽̓҉̳͓̦̝̞͖͟͝ͅe̤̤͓̩̬̳ͪͭṃ̸͚͖͉̻̪̗̖̃͑̆ͣͥy̶͔͇̩̖̻͍̫̙͐̐̌́̄̊ͩ.̭̳͖͙̻̦̦͇̘̑ͥ̅̂̏ͨ_

_Get OUT._

At the time, he’d just been panicking so bad, he smashed his head on the bathroom counter. The SQUIP’s voice had glitched for just a moment, before it resumed. _Pain_ , Jeremy had realized. Pain was enough to override it—maybe even stop it for a while. He’d started grabbing for anything he could find. Rich had had some extra blades for his boxcutter lying around in the cabinet for some reason, and Jeremy went for them.

And it worked. It only took a couple of tries before the SQUIP glitched out completely, seemingly gone for good again. But then it came back over and over and… eventually the "coping" became a habit. Any time he even felt the SQUIP threatening to come back, he cut; it was easier than having to deal with it in a panicked moment—one where he was sure to be sloppy and slip up, leaving some kind of trace behind for friends that are much too good for him to find.

After freshman year and the chemistry class was over, though, the SQUIP's re-entrances (beyond the whispers, of course) were few and far between.

Jeremy’s self-harming wasn’t.

He touches his wrist, watching as he forms a too-tight fist and then releases over and over. His stomach is in knots, and the sick thing is? He wishes he could lock himself in the bathroom and add to the mess. He doesn’t know why—it doesn’t feel _good_ like it does in other contexts. It’s more like… respite. A brief moment of it, sandwiched between unbearable pain and equally as unbearable guilt. And yet he does it. Over and over again, he does it, scars himself for the sake of what? More god damn shit, piling itself onto his psyche?

Jeremy takes a look at the clock. It’s only been twenty minutes—wow, his mood tanked in record time.

He presses the heel of his palm to his eye. Steady streams of tears have made tracks on his cheeks, even though he hadn’t noticed. He’s a complete fucking wreck.

The door clicks, and Michael walks in with more than just a glass of water. A 7/11 bag hangs on his left wrist as he balances a drink carrier on the same hand. He kicks the door closed and tosses his keys on the desk, spitting the wallet that was in his mouth next to it.

Jeremy feels an ache he hadn’t realized had settled inside him melt away.

“Sorry it took me so long,” Michael says, breathless, “I just—I thought you might like something besides water. Also, maybe some more time.”

Jeremy just nods. Even after all that, he still can’t bring himself to speak. Pathetic.

“So uh… the seven eleven lady was really nice. I was just getting a medium for you, but she gave me a large.” Carefully, Michael extracts the bigger slushy from the carrier, handing it to Jeremy before setting it down on the desk. “Blue raspberry, of course.”

Jeremy holds it in his hands for a moment, then shivers. He’s been sitting here shirtless the whole time because he was too stupid to put his sweater back on. Michael looks at him and smiles at him wryly. It tugs at Jeremy’s heart.

“Babe, you’re gonna catch a cold.” He says. He sets down the bag, too, and at first reaches for the sweater that’s been in Jeremy’s lap the whole time. Then he stops, giving Jeremy a thoughtful look before pulling off his hoodie. Draping it over one arm, he gently pulls Jeremy’s slushy away for the moment.

“Arms up.”

Jeremy feels like he’s five again, like his mom is dressing him up for a playdate and he can’t get his polo on right by himself. But Michael doesn’t seem to see it that way. He looks at Jeremy so warmly, nestling him into the hoodie, tugging it to fit better since it’s so loose on Jeremy. The ends of the arms nearly eclipse Jeremy’s hands, the open hood brushing soft fleece in his face, and it’s just… nice to be surrounded by something so uniquely Michael.

They stare into each other’s eyes for a minute. The smile on Michael’s face has subsided a bit, concern clouding his expression. Jeremy feels more tears welling; he wishes a look could convey how sorry he is for everything: for being such a mess, for showing Michael his scars, for not telling him about the SQUIP’s resurgence in the first place. But he knows he can’t. He knows he has to use his words for that, and even then that wouldn’t be enough. Michael would say it was, of course, because Michael is the best person in the damn world, but he deserves more. Michael Mell deserves so much more, so much _better_ than fucking Jeremy Heere could ever offer him, and yet he still looks at Jeremy like this. Like something precious. Something to be cared about. Something _more_.

He doesn’t deserve it.

Michael takes a deep breath. He hands Jeremy his slushy again, who promptly takes a too-long drink. Shit, that's cold. “So, um…we should probably—”

Jeremy hiccups.

Michael stops midsentence and nearly jumps out of his skin; Jeremy’s voice, when uncontrolled, has always erred a little bit on the side of too high and too loud. And then he stares, wide-eyed, blinking a couple of times. Jeremy wishes the floor would eat him already.

And then, Michael bursts out laughing. Raucous, messy chuckles peeling off his lips, crackling through the air like a live wire. He puts a hand over his mouth, desperately trying to stop himself, but it barely muffles the sound. “Sorry, f-fuck I—”

More laughs.

It’s contagious. At first, Jeremy can only muster a weak smile, but as Michael cackles on, it infects him. Little giggles start to lift from his chest, first in spurts, then in longer, continuous strands. As Michael’s cheeks redden, as tears spill from his eyes, Jeremy can feel himself doing the same. For a brief moment, it’s as if nothing happened at all and the hollowness in Jeremy’s chest subsides.

But it has to end sometime. Michael’s laughter fades a bit. “I’m sorry,” he giggles, his eyes opening. “I’m sorry.” He says again, going to sit down next to Jeremy, bed bending under the new weight. That wry smile from before returns. He stares at his hands.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers.

Jeremy swallows. “I…” he tries, his voice a rasp. “No, it’s…f-fine…”

He trails off into nothing. God, he sucks.

“No, it isn’t.” Michael turns to look at him. “I’m sorry for freaking out like that. I know I made you feel worse, and that wasn’t okay.”

Jeremy can feel the denial on his tongue, but he stops himself with another sip of his slushy before he sets it on the desk, hands in his lap. Michael isn’t finished.

“I just… I’ve been there.” His eyes go to the floor as he adjusts his glasses. “Where you are right now, I mean, and that’s…it’s dark. It’s scary as fuck. And to think that you’re there now, that you’ve _been_ there for a while and I hadn’t even noticed, it—shit, it kills me.”

Jeremy winces, guilt coming from all different places. Michael shakes his head again.

“You’re everything to me, Jeremy. I don’t—if I ever lost you, I—” his voice cracks. He puts his hand atop Jeremy’s, thumb rubbing circles into Jeremy’s knuckles overtop the red fabric.

They stay like that for a long moment, Michael’s words running through Jeremy’s head. _Everything_. _You’re everything to me._

Michael swallows. “You can make it through this. I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but I—of anyone I know who can make it through this, it’s you. You are so strong, so incredible, I—you’re going to be okay. I know that. And any time you need reminding, I’m here for you. I’ll always be here.”

Jeremy’s shoulders shake, fresh tears staining his face. Michael reaches over, using his thumb to swipe them away and leaving his hand pressed to Jeremy’s cheek. Jeremy nuzzles it a little more desperately than he should, but the weight is so comforting.

“Jeremy.” He whispers, and Jeremy flicks his gaze up. They lock eyes for a moment, their foreheads naturally resting against each other. “I love you so much. You know that, right? You know you’re my best friend, right? And you’re gonna get through this—we’ll get through it. Together.” He shifts the hand resting atop Jeremy’s, coaxing Jeremy’s pinkie out and locking them. Jeremy bites hard on his lip, willing the tears back. “I promise. Just like you promised me, remember?”

Jeremy falls apart. The shaking in his shoulders migrates, spreading to the rest of his body as guttural sobs rip through him. But he doesn’t have to go it alone; Michael pulls him in immediately, wrapping him in a bone-crushing hug, pressing his nose into the top of Jeremy’s head. Jeremy grasps for purchase, gripping Michael’s t-shirt and tugging more than he should because he’s sure that’s stretching the fabric, but Michael doesn’t seem to care. He just nuzzles the top of Jeremy’s head, while Jeremy buries his face into the crook of Michael’s neck.

He doesn’t deserve this. He knows he doesn’t. He even says as much, but Michael nearly growls at the mere whisper of it.

“You deserve the world.” He says, adamant, sealing it with a kiss to Jeremy’s temple. “And I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise. Including you, bucko, so square up.”

Jeremy chokes out a laugh, shuddering. Michael only gives him a squeeze in response.

They sit just like that for a long time: Michael rubs soothing circles into Jeremy’s back as he cries, whispering sweet nothings and promises into his hair. It’s… it’s amazing. The hollowness inside him hasn’t disappeared, but there’s a little less of it. Enough for now, anyways. Enough to remind him that there might be hope after all, even for someone like him.

Jeremy pulls back first, though there’s barely space between them. “Thank you.” He says, voice warbled. “I… just…”

Michael shakes his head. “It’s what best friends are for.” Michael smiles, his eyes crinkling. “And boyfriends. So it’s doubly what I’m here for.”

Jeremy smiles weakly. Normally, his anxiety would spark and he’d ask what Michael even saw in him, why he puts up with all of this. He still doesn’t know, but… a part of him is okay with not knowing for the moment, because Michael is with him and that’s what matters. So he leans up and pecks Michael’s lips before settling into the crook of Michael’s neck again. Michael smiles even more.

“I love you, too.” Jeremy says after a long moment, running one hand up and down Michael’s arm while the other has settled around his waist. “So much. More than anything.”

Michael just smiles, pulling them both down onto the mattress and getting situated. Exhaustion hits Jeremy like a freight train, and he sighs, content.

“Think you’d be up for going to the counselor’s tomorrow?” Michael asks.

“I…” Jeremy’s stomach fills with dread. "No." He says honestly. But then he swallows and looks back up at Michael. _Together_. He feels everything in him soften and strengthen all at once. "Or, well, maybe. Will you, um, come with me?”

Michael melts, arm tightening around Jeremy’s waist. “Of course I will.”

“Yay.” Jeremy puts up a little fist. He nestles back into Michael’s side, right where he belongs, feeling his eyes flutter shut.

It’s enough for now.

**Author's Note:**

> yikes.jpg
> 
> the fact that i used zalgo text unironically is really.............oh boy........... speaking, if you're having trouble reading that, here's the plain [text](http://vintgecassette.tumblr.com/private/164213500031/tumblr_ouq9vy28BF1uw8iy3) (it's not really important, but i know some might be curious!).
> 
> in case you were wondering, i absolutely love jeremy, which is probably why a) i keep writing from his perspective, and b) i delve into all this really painful stuff. Really sorry about that. 
> 
> I wholeheartedly blame [cataclysma](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cataclysma/pseuds/cataclysma) for pulling me into meremy hell. Go yell at her for this (and read her fics while you're at it). 
> 
> You can also yell at me for my crimes [here](http://vintgecassette.tumblr.com/).


End file.
